The Pale One
by sayjay1995
Summary: Slenderman ponders on the feelings he gets, both good and bad, when he slaughters children. Rated T for the use of blood.


**A/N: One of my friends/coworkers got me a chibi Slenderman necklace for Christmas this year. I think I might cry. It's so cute and I absolutely adore it; so what do I do in response? I write fanfiction for you all to enjoy too, ha ha! Not so sure if I care for the ending or not but feel free to review anyway. I love Slendy-kun no matter what, the poor, misunderstood thing!**

**Disclaimer: Slender is mine… nah. I wish though!**

**The Pale One**

The hours had passed by as mere seconds as the pallid moon slunk lower in its resting place, nearly finished with its nightly passage across the endless black sky. A chilly calm had descended over the forest below as last of the moon's beams shimmered down below, bathing the shadows in eerie, silent light. A slight breeze interrupted the soft quiet, tossing fallen leaves across the hard ground and pulling just a few into the air with feeble strength.

One, blowing astray from the cluster of dying foliage, fluttered skyward against the wet, tattered tee shirt. The rapid rising and falling of the chest hardly ruffled the little leaf; it clung to the bloody fabric with an air of lonely desperation, as if it had been searching for just a resting place to perch upon. From its spot above the ground, the leaf had a perfect view of the leafy canopy spread across the backdrop of inky sky, pathetic specks of stars struggling to shine against the fading moonlight.

"N…N…N-No…"

The girl's mouth trembled as it filled with the rustic taste of blood, the liquid gushing as her neck went limp, her head falling against the rough bark impaled through her chest until she became still once more. It almost sounded like freshly fallen rain dripping from the leaves, the soft patter of her blood hitting the ground below. The Pale One raised one of its infamous tentacle fingers and, with as much care as his claws could allow, plucked the leaf from his latest victim's shirt; he stared down at it with fascination, although the cause of such a reaction puzzled even him. The empty, silent trees were his companions, the sole comfort offered to a being such as him.

How strange it was, though, having no eyes etched into his bony skull yet still possessing the ability to see. The wind picked up, blowing the leaf right out of his palm, sending it in a flurry into the air. In an instant he had shot his hand out to grasp it once more but only succeeded in crushing it; the decayed bits and pieces fluttered from his fist, finally coming to a rest at his feet. The Pale One was alone once more. He turned his attention back to the body he had speared, steam still rising from the flesh as it had when the girl had been alive only hours before.

He had not meant to kill again. It had been an accident of sorts to run across the child, lost during a hide and go seek game with her little friends who had been smart enough to stay far away from the heart of the woods. She had stumbled along the trees, her little fingers gripping the bark like fragile twigs as she cried for help, her little chest aching with the sobs that collected there. He had tried to stay away, to melt into the branches and pretend that his existence was not so, but instinct is a hard habit to kill.

Reaching out with his thin arms The Pale One had pulled the girl against his chest, feeling the ebony material become dank with her tears splashing against it. Her perilous whimpers had tugged at something deep within him, the confusing feelings that arose whenever he had captured another victim. He thrived on the fear he saw in the innocent, round faces of the children he desired so. The way their eyes shimmered with teary terror made his thin line of a mouth salivate with thirst. Yet as he stood there, gazing into the dull, grey colored eyes of the body, he could not help but think back to those other feelings that accompanied his sick pleasure.

The Pale One was alone once more; was that, he pondered with a cock of his blank face, the reason he couldn't resist snatching up children? They were indeed the least judgmental of the human race. Flocks of them could frolic together for hours, their carefree laughter ringing like the songs of the birds. Children of all varieties played together in harmony, no matter the size, or color, or other difference. If he were to ever be accepted by another being, he felt sure it would be with a child. That, it seemed, was a fate hopelessly out of reach, as he could not ignore his basic urges.

The stench of rotting flesh soon filled the area; it had cloaked his blood stained suit and followed him like a cloud wherever he wandered. The night was coming to its unfortunate, methodic end. Though it was within his capabilities to hunt throughout the day The Pale One detested the bright, blinding light. It was more difficult to hide from the humans he hunted; only his victims were permitted to see the monster that craved their delicious blood. Ah, yes, of course, his victims!

He was never truly alone after all, for plastered against the trees around him were the many bodies, all in various stages of decomposition. The line that encompassed his mouth twitched at the corners, the closest gesture to a smile he was able to produce. The gut panging feelings from before faded from his mind; he had not been feeling lonely after all. He had all the friends he needed, the trees, the leaves, and the tiny, broken bodies. As the sky began to glow with the first few splotches of pink, orange, and murky blue, The Pale One took to the shadows underneath the densest, old, withered oaks he knew to exist and slumped against the familiar jagged bark, replaying his latest kills in his mind again and again. This time he focused only on the immense joy that filled his hollow chest when the blood bathed his pale skin, pushing aside those other silly feelings.

Of course he meant to slaughter the children; they fulfilled him in ways no other food source could. He rested his lanky back against the length of the tree and waited eagerly for the night to fall once more, surrounded by his friends, the remains spared by the monster that hungered for them so desperately. That little girl had been good, too good, he decided, his arms hanging limp at his side. Perhaps he would find another, similar one soon. And there, he heard it; in the far off distance, the chorus of little giggles that told him at least three other children had wandered into his home. He pushed off from the ground and brushed away dirt and dried flecks of blood, readying himself to make the acquaintance of his soon-to-be friends. The Pale One faded into the trees, enveloping himself in the same, daunting silence that made his tentacles quiver with fervent desire, ready to fulfill his instincts once more.


End file.
